


Hear Us, the Wretched

by rubylily



Category: Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo
Genre: Asphyxiation, Canon Divergence, Decapitation, Gen, Guro, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubylily/pseuds/rubylily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He who seeks revenge must dig two graves."  When all things come to an end, the Count discards any sense of humanity he has left, and Fernand is at his mercy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear Us, the Wretched

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the bloodyvalentine community on Dreamwidth, with torture and decapitation as the prompts.

Forced onto the ground, Fernand choked as the Count looped a chain over his head and tightened it around his neck. In the Count's other hand was an unsheathed sword, and he dug his heel into Fernand's back as he pulled harder on the chain.

Their full armors lay abandoned on the fake sand, and this extravagant simulacrum of the outside world was beginning to fall apart.

The Count chuckled, a dark, malicious laugh devoid of any joy. "My, you've truly sunk so low, haven't you?" he remarked.

Fernand couldn't breathe; he tried to raise his hands to the chain crushing his throat, but the Count only pressed harder on his back. "Edmond, please…" he forced out.

"Begging already?" the Count sneered. He took his foot from Fernand's back, and as Fernand lifted himself onto his hands and knees, the Count kneeled and seized the chain where it met the collar, pulling Fernand's face close to his. "I would not have thought you a coward. Do you truly intend to shame your Catalan ancestry, General de Morcerf? Or should I say, 'Fernand Mondego'?" His fangs gleamed in the fake light.

Fernand's only response was to spit in the Count's face.

The Count frowned. He returned to his full height and then released the chain but suddenly grabbed it again just before Fernand hit the ground, pulling it taut. Fernand gagged violently as the chain closed tightly around his neck once more.

"How fortunate that your neck didn't snap," the Count said, holding his sword close to Fernand's face. "I can't have you dying so soon, although I do apologize that my method is so crude now. You've forced my hand, you see." He pressed the point of his sword into the flesh of Fernand's face, underneath his eye, and blood gushed from the newly formed wound.

Fernand gaped in vain for air, and his lips were beginning to turn blue. He tasted blood at the back of his throat, and he tried to lift his hands to grip the chain, but his fingers felt too numb to move.

In response, the Count drove his sword clean through the center of Fernand's right hand, pinning it to the ground, and Fernand's scream was barely more than a strained gasp. A ghastly smile came upon the Count's face, and he placed his foot on Fernand's chest, forcing his body to the ground. The chain loosed just slightly, but Fernand still could not inhale enough air to calm his burning lungs.

"So vile…" the Count hissed. He pulled his sword out of Fernand's hand and then held the point at the collar of Fernand's uniform, slashing downward and slicing the front open, baring his chest. "A fine, strong body," the Count mused, his smile ironic. "Your body is your own, quite possibly the only thing you did not cheat or steal from another."

With his good hand Fernand grabbed the Count's sword, wrapping his fingers around the blade. "You…" was all he could say, but the fire burning within his eyes was not yet extinguished.

The Count quickly pulled his sword back, slicing Fernand's fingers, and Fernand let his now bleeding hand to fall to his side. "Death is a release," the Count said, pressing the point of his sword against Fernand's bare chest, drawing blood. "I could grant you a quick death, but a few moments of pain could not even begin to measure to your sins. Even torturing your very body and soul is not enough, but that is all I can do now. Suffer me this one last request."

He slashed Fernand's chest, and then pulled harder on the chain before Fernand could scream. Fernand's body trembled, and his blood flew freely as the Count slashed his chest over and over again. None of the cuts were particularly deep or serious, but he felt he would be dead soon, if not of asphyxiation then surely of blood loss.

The Count suddenly stopped his assault, the point of the blade freezing right at the hollow of Fernand's throat. "Do you still wish to live?" he asked, this expression stoic.

"I…" Fernand winced; his voice had grown so hoarse. "What does it matter now…? Mercédès and Albert are dead…"

"Dead?" was the Count's only response, and his shock was clear on his face. But his surprise quickly changed into a crazed grin, and he raised his sword to his lips and licked Fernand's blood off of the blade. "I've sunk so low as well, to act in such a vulgar manner!" he exclaimed, and he then raised his foot and stomped on Fernand's stomach, with a sickening crack.

Fernand could not help but retch, and he coughed up a fair amount of blood as well. Perhaps he would choke to death on his own blood, he thought bitterly. Blood still flowed freely from his countless wounds, and he could no longer move the fingers of his right hand.

The taste of blood was sharp and bitter on his lips. He could die now, for a want of any reason to still live, but a clear voice cut through his dark thoughts.

"Father, Excellency!" came Albert's voice, as clear as day, and he rushed through the entrance at the other side of the bank. His breathing was heavy, and bloodstained bandages encircled his torso.

The Count seemed to jolt at the sound of Albert's voice, but his expression did not betray his emotions.

Fernand's eyes widened in fear. "Albert!" he screamed, trying to turn himself over onto his stomach so he could more easily see Albert, but the Count pressed his foot on the back of his neck, forcing his face into the sand. He let out a muffled, sharp gasp; the sand aggravated the cuts on his chest, and his vision was starting to darken.

"Ah, we now have a witness to your execution," the Count said with a ghastly smile. "This would be more proper with a guillotine, but unfortunately, as you can see, all I have is this sword."

"Count, please stop!" Albert yelled, his tone growing more frantic.

Fernand closed his eyes; he did not wish for his son to witness this. But Albert was _alive_ , and perhaps Mercédès…

The Count tightened his grip on his sword, and with one quick, powerful slash, the blade sliced cleanly through Fernand's neck, and the sand become even more stained with his blood.

Albert fell to his knees. "Fa… Father…" he murmured, and tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

The Count discarded his sword and reached down and gently picked up Fernand's head, and his fingers stroked the skin with grotesque tenderness. Blood dripped from the stump of the neck, staining the Count's hands and clothes. "Farewell, Fernand Mondego," he whispered, and he lightly kissed the bloody lips of Fernand's severed head.

"Stop it, stop it…!" Albert cried, averting his eyes as his fingers balled into fists against the sand. Haydée, Bertuccio, and Baptisin had rushed in toward Albert, and Bertuccio knelt down next to Albert while Haydée could only turn her face away and hold back a sob and Baptisin forced himself to remain stone-faced, but his body still trembled.

The Count did not heed Albert's words nor seem to notice the arrival of the others. He began to speak: "Fernand… 'I have kissed thy mouth. There was a bitter taste on my lips. Was it the taste of blood? Nay; perchance it was the taste of love. They say that love hath a bitter taste…' However…" He turned his eyes toward Albert, his smile dark. "The taste of hate is also bitter, my dear Monsieur Albert."

All Albert could do now was cry out and curse the Count's name.


End file.
